Architecture is, in its essence, a problem-solving science. At the birth of every project, a good architect must map down all those parameters that will go into play and produce the form of the building. What goes into that list, in which priority, and which in the end will be the chosen form that best responds to all those questions, lies at the heart of architecture as a form of art.  

But if I spent another minute thinking of that list, I would say that that list is key. All of the client’s dreams go into that list, along with legal or budget restrictions, the architect’s principles and beliefs about how this project should be at the time of its inception, environmental parameters, the plot’s physiology, and so on and so forth. The best solution is the one that best responds to all those questions simultaneously and with no or the least possible compromise. Some projects simply and quickly shed light on one catchy aspect of that list, making the lives of their tenants inside of them unbearable or just blunt.

An architect’s primary goal is to design spaces that can be pleasantly experienced as much from within as from outside. Spaces where the interplay of light, the dialogue with the topography, and the sense of proportion, both internal and external, are carefully considered, thus reaching a state of “equilibrium architecture” — that ideal state when all the parameters shaping the architectural form are in balance.